


All Kinds of Revelations

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry receives some strange romantic advice from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Kinds of Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for elucreh for hpvalensmut 2007. This is what comes of writing for a fic exchange where the recipient asked for ‘adoption’ fic. Since I couldn’t bring myself to write proper kid!fic (I think I’d rather claw my own eyes out, actually), I wrote this instead. Written in 2007 prior to the release of DH, so AU from HBP onwards.

“Why aren’t you looking for a potential mate? The mating season is coming up and I know that your kind don’t sleep during the cold time. Shouldn’t you be preparing now?” Cecilia flicked her tongue out in a manner that reminded Harry of the kind of face a child might make if presented with a plate of broccoli. “How do your kind prepare, anyway?”

Harry swung his head around to face Cecilia where she was curled up on the futon across from him.

“Mating season?” he gulped. There was no way this start to the conversation could possibly lead to anything good. “What do you mean, potential mate? And hey, how do you even know about mating? I never explained it to you. Don’t try to feed me some line about instinct, either. You only fooled me with that that one time, and I swore it would never happen again.”

Harry knew that he sounded overly parental, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it.

If she could have shrugged, Harry imagined she would have done. Somehow she managed to effortlessly convey that sense of nonchalance nonetheless.

“Unlike you, I don’t slither off every time someone wants to bask in my company. You’re hardly the only one ever I talk to,” she said. “One of the others – the ones like me – out in the garden told me that the time of mating is not long away. When I am grown, he said. I’m nearly as long as I’ll ever be now, I think, so the mating season must be soon.”

Harry bit his lip distractedly. He’d _known_ there were snakes out in that garden, though they’d obviously been careful in hiding from him up until now. They were probably fiercer and more dangerous ones than Cecilia, as well. He would have to warn Ron and Hermione to watch it when they brought the kids over.

The garden had been where he’d first discovered Cecilia. She, apparently unlike the rest of them, had been too young to hide from Harry. When no other snakes showed up to claim her after a short while, Harry had deduced that her parents had obviously been killed off before they had a chance to protect her. Presuming, Harry supposed, that snakes actually did protect their young. Harry had never been particularly sure about that.

Now, of course, Cecilia wouldn’t dream of attempting to hide from Harry. He was all she’d ever known. He was like a nest mate, she’d told him, even if he didn’t look much like her. Harry pointedly didn’t ask what exactly she’d meant by ‘nest mate’. There were some things he just really didn’t want to consider.

“You shouldn’t listen to strange snakes,” Harry admonished eventually. He wondered if he should start watching her more closely.

Cecilia obviously thought his opinion was irrelevant, as per usual. “He wasn’t strange,” she returned almost petulantly. Harry was constantly surprised by how selfish snakes were. Much like a lot of humans he’d known in his life, really.

She could have left it there, but Cecilia had never been very good at keeping her jaw snapped shut when she’d been offended.

“If anyone’s strange around here,” she practically sneered, “it’s _you_. You’re not a snake, but you’re not quite like the other two-leggers either. You’re just in between. Drifting.”

Harry ignored her entirely, even though he would really have liked to have protested that he was very much a normal man, thank you. There was no arguing with her, though. As much as she had pretentiously claimed otherwise, Harry thought that she was still far from being a fully-grown adult (at least according to the book that Hermione had read for him when he wouldn’t stop asking her questions about how to care for his new pet). Harry was fairly certainly she’d still gain a lot of meat under her scales as well as several inches in length before spring (the 'mating season', as she put it). It was only now just starting to get into the winter months, after all.

So what did she know, anyway? She was, in body and mind, still the snake version of a child. Or, more accurately, an adolescent. She usually acted just like any human adolescent, except twenty times worse. Harry had given up on acknowledging any insults, and he let her win most arguments purely to maintain peace and quiet around the house. Her hissing, after all, rose to a positive cacophony when she wanted to voice her opinion.

That happened quite a lot, actually.

“Right, well, even so,” he muttered, attempting to avoid sacrificing a night’s sleep to her pettiness. “Watch yourself when you go outside.”

She’d won yet again without a fight. Harry wondered if he was shaping her into even more of a brat than she already was. Then he sighed, for the thought made him feel very parental yet again.

He wondered why the thought of being a parent scared him so much. He was, after all, twenty-eight years old with a stable income. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle having children if it came to that. He liked children well enough, as time spent with his friends in recent years had proven.

Then again, the prospect of children usually went hand in hand with that of a wife, or a steady girlfriend at least. Perhaps that was closer to the mark of what Harry actually feared.

As if she’d read his mind (Harry wouldn’t put it past her, either), Cecilia’s head rose to face him and she all but rolled her eyes at him. She’d become very good at expressing emotion in an almost human way, Harry thought. He wondered whether that was normal snake behaviour, or whether she’d somehow adapted to his presence in her life.

“You’re avoiding the question,” accused Cecilia. “Why do you choose not to mate?”

Harry sighed. “It’s not the same for my kind. We don’t have a mating season, for starters.”

“But you aren’t really like others of your kind,” she insisted again, though this time the malice had faded from her voice. “You live more like us. A solitary life soaking up the warmth of what happens around you.”

Wasn’t that the truth. He felt most at home when his only companion was a snake, after all. That had to say something not entirely positive about him. Especially thinking back how Voldemort had lived, and just what kind of creature his lone companion had been.

Harry was nothing like _him_ , though, pet snake as a best friend or no. Cecilia was nothing like Nagini, either; she was often infuriating, but never psychotic (as far as Harry had seen, at least).

“But we snakes at least have company once a year, when we mate,” Cecilia continued to nag. Harry smiled when he realised that it was her who was being overprotective this time. “You should find company as well.”

“I have company,” Harry grumbled. “You’re always here, and my friends come around fairly often. Anyway, I’m not really like a snake at all. Not when it comes to ‘mating’ and that sort of thing,” he hastily added, for he was sure that otherwise she would have pointed out what a lie that was. Cecilia often reminded Harry of Hermione in the scariest ways, her perceptiveness and persistence not least among those qualities.

“Humans don’t live just to have babies like other animals,” he further explained. “We only really have one or two kids, at most, and it takes us a lot longer to find a… a mate, as you’d call it. And even then, it’s about more than the mating part than the, um, offspring.”

Harry was having ‘the talk’ with his pet snake, he realised. There was no doubt about it; he was certifiable. He wondered whether he should Floo Hermione and Ron and ask them to take him to St Mungo’s.

But then, maybe not. The mental ward would bore him. What would he do there without having to complete the assignments his work sent to him and having his friends stopping by at awkward moments, nattering on about house elves and Quidditch and such? It would be just like being alone in his house, which was something that Harry dreaded but knew would happen eventually unless he managed to somehow follow Cecilia’s advice.

Thinking of which, who would look after Cecilia if he was locked away behind magic-cushioned walls?

Not to mention how awkward wanking would be, with the possibility of all those eyes monitoring his progress as he did so. Harry didn’t think he could live without wanking. It was the only relief he got, these days.

No, a ward in St Mungo’s wouldn’t suit him at all, whether he was crazy enough to live there or not.

Cecilia, after a long consideration of his words, didn’t seem at all impressed by the explanation. “You’re lying now,” she accused. “Those other two like you who come here often have many offspring. Surely they must mate and lay eggs each year?”

The thought of Hermione laying eggs made Harry’s eyes pop out in a manner that he was certain looked comical.

Harry didn’t quite know how to explain that Weasleys were like a breed of their own. Hell, he didn’t quite know how Ron and Hermione managed to keep having kids. Even Hermione didn’t seem to quite understand how Ron talked her into it each time. One more, he kept saying. Just one more, and this time it’ll be a boy, and then we can stop.

It never was. Eventually Hermione would show that famous stubbornness of hers and announce that there would be no more children on the way, ever, thanks very much. She had big plans for her life that didn’t include lying flat on her back with a body the size of a whale, she frequently told Harry. Harry privately felt sickened by the very thought of that, since it made him think of Hermione as a female Dudley, and that was just wrong on every level possible.

Also, Harry shuddered to think of having to go through that himself. Five times, even.

And Cecilia seemed to think he might want to put another person through that each and every year? Not likely. In fact, it wasn’t likely he would ever have even a single child. He’d kind of sworn off love after Ginny had died. Looking at other women had always seemed far too painful since then. Any dates he’d been on had quickly turned into one-night-stands, if even that.

“That’s… look, humans make a choice to have babies when they’re in love, something snakes don’t have to worry about.” And nor would Harry, but he left that part unsaid. “I don’t even have someone I spend a lot of time with, apart from Ron and Hermione, let alone someone who I’m in love with.”

“What about that other one. The one who is just passing his prime and who doesn’t taste very much like the rest of you humans.”

“Remus?” Harry asked, surprised. “But he’s male! I thought you understood the whole male/female dynamics thing, at least. Those snakes outside are mad, I tell you. What rubbish have they been feeding you about mating, anyway?”

If snakes could look sly, Cecilia certainly did at that moment.

“They weren’t the ones who told me of mating that wasn’t meant to form eggs. That would solve your problems, wouldn’t it? You could have the company you need without having to worry about offspring, at least.”

Harry wondered for a moment if wizards could have children with each other. Magic was capable of many things, after all.

But then he imagined himself as large as Hermione got when she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and he made a face.

“Oh, honestly,” said Harry instead, suddenly just wishing the conversation was over. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself be dragged into this. “Snakes are silly creatures, or at least _you_ are. I don’t know why I spend all my time with you. You’re only a baby yourself, still! All you know about this sort of thing is what some pest in my garden told you. And by the sounds of it, he hasn’t a clue about it either!”

Cecilia looked like she was going to bite him at that, so Harry quickly dropped her back onto the lounge chair. He counted himself lucky that she wasn’t poisonous.

“You are my carer,” she hissed. “Perhaps you should have been the one to explain it to me instead.”

Yes, perhaps her ‘carer’ should have been the one to handle that sort of thing. It was just a pity her carer didn’t really know much of snakes, when it came down to it. He may have spoken their language, but he knew next to nothing of their ways, and half of what he did know he’d found out by experience at the same time Cecilia did. Harry wished, at least sometimes, that he hadn’t had to take Cecilia in. He often wondered whether he’d done her more harm than good.

But then he remembered that she’d been alone and easy pickings for the many owls that visited his house regularly, or for any other predators out there that Harry didn’t yet know about. She would almost undoubtedly have died. And Harry would never have met her, nor spent hours on end in her company.

No, he really didn’t wish for that after all, when it came right down to it.

As she slithered onto the floor and then off towards his room, presumably to wait for him to put her in her cage for the night, she called back at him, “You just wait. When the mating season comes and you are feeling lonely, you won’t be able to complain to me. I’ll have found a mate like any normal creature, and you’ll be left all alone in this house.”

Harry had the feeling that, had she had limbs with which to do so, Cecilia would have probably slammed the door after her like any other teenager in a snit. And then maybe blared some loud music just for good measure.

It was astonishing sometimes how much humans and snakes had in common (or, well, humans and Cecilia, anyway, since Harry didn’t think that she was quite a ‘normal’ snake). Cecilia was right about that – even snakes grew up and left their parents behind eventually. ‘Empty nest’ syndrome, indeed.

Still, even though Harry knew she had a point despite her dramatics, he didn’t want to think about it right at that moment. He’d grown used to having that ever-present company about the place, and he didn’t want to consider what would happen when it was no longer there.

In truth, Harry really wished he _could_ find someone and settle down. He could certainly do with some consistent company that was a little more human – and hopefully a little less annoying, as well. However, every time he thought he might be ready to date again, a few hours in a woman’s presence decisively proved him wrong.

Perhaps he just wasn’t meant to find someone.

* * * * *

“Harry, you really should get out more. People keep asking me where you’ve gone. _We_ barely even see you anymore. You work at home, so you don’t have anyone work-related to talk to except the very occasional fire-call. It’s not healthy.”

Harry scowled at Hermione’s face where it appeared in the fire. “I’ve already had this lecture from Cecilia, you know, so you don’t have to repeat it all.”

Hermione’s glower increased in intensity. “See, Harry? Even your snake realises there’s something wrong with you.”

Harry snorted. “Right. My snake thinks there’s something wrong with me because I’m not, and I quote, ‘looking for a potential mate’. Because the mating season’s coming up, apparently, and she won’t accept that we don’t throw our lots in with a stranger and reproduce each year.”

“Well,” said Hermione slowly, “mating seasons and reproduction aside, she’s not entirely wrong. You could stand to have a bit of a look around for someone. You haven’t been on a date in nearly two years, remember.”

Harry grimaced. “No, I don’t remember, actually. Somehow I’m not all that surprised that _you’re_ keeping count, though.”

“Somebody has to. I’m surprised you even remember what year we’re in most of the time, Harry. You’re completely disconnected from the rest of the world these days.”

“I like it that way,” Harry shrugged. “And hasn’t it occurred to you that perhaps there’s a reason I’m not so much into dating anymore?”

Hermione didn’t roll her eyes, thankfully, but Harry was fairly certain she wanted to.

“Of course it has. And it was a terrible thing that Ginny died. But Harry, that was eleven years ago, and you two weren’t even properly dating at the time. You didn’t even get past first base with her!”

“Hey, I’m not a virgin,” Harry said defensively. He blushed heavily and cursed at himself for not thinking about what he’d be letting out of his mouth before opening the damn thing. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist saying it. He didn’t want her to think that he was completely immature. He _was_ twenty-eight, after all, and that’d be fairly pathetic, really.

“I didn’t say you were,” Hermione said soothingly. “And that’s hardly the point. The point is that you’ve never really let yourself get close to anyone, and that includes Ginny. I don’t think you were as hurt by her death as you think. And I’m not suggesting that you’re lying,” she said quickly, obviously seeing Harry’s red face darkening slightly with a different emotion all together, “only that you don’t realise that it’s something else entirely that you’re hiding from. You’re using Ginny’s death as a shield without realising it, don’t you see?”

“And what am I hiding?” Harry asked. His tone was bitter, but privately his interest was piqued. He _was_ intrigued to know what exactly Hermione thought his issues were. Spirits above only knew that Harry had no idea himself what the hell was wrong with him these days. He _had_ assumed it must have been to do with Ginny. He’d been having the same problem since he was a teenager, after all, and she’d been the only one he’d been with then (apart from Cho, but as terrible as that relationship had turned out, it was hardly likely to scar him for life). What else could it be?

But really, Hermione made sense, as always, in what she’d said about him not having a chance to actually get all that close to Ginny. They’d been barely more than friends when the Death Eaters had snatched her out from right under the Order’s collective noses. Not that he’d admit any of that out loud, of course. He was still a Gryffindor through and through, whether he was, as Hermione seemed to think, unknowingly hiding like a coward from his inner demons or not. He had a lot of stubborn pride to overcome, and he didn’t see that happening any time soon.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said after a long moment of silence. “I honestly don’t know. But Harry? I really think you should find out. Because one day you’re going to wake up and realise that your life’s passed you by, otherwise. I don’t want that for you. You deserve a lot better.”

“Yes, mum,” Harry muttered several moments after Hermione had excused herself and the fire had faded back to orange once more. Still, even though the whole thing had gotten Harry’s hackles raised a little, he couldn’t help but wish her face back into the fire. Hermione was a smart woman. Surely she’d be able to figure out the truth if he just explained everything to her. He was reaching for the Floo powder to call her back before he realised what he was doing. He paused. Then he let his hand fall back down to his side.

Harry’s ample amount of pride worked as a barrier that refused to let that sort of important information out of his mouth, when it came down to it. He could barely even talk about it to Cecilia.

Of course, since he couldn’t find Cecilia at the moment, he couldn’t talk to her even if he tried. Harry grunted in annoyance, glad that (for the moment, at least) he’d been distracted from his conversation with Hermione. It had been a depressing topic, anyway, and Harry definitely didn’t need any more gloominess in his life.

* * * * *

When Harry couldn’t find Cecilia that day, he’d figured she was outside somewhere sunning herself. The winter cold had finally struck, after all, and even the fire hadn’t seemed to properly warm her over the last day or two. She’d probably gone in search of a warm rock upon which she could absorb the sun’s rays.

When he still hadn’t seen any trace of her after several days, though, Harry began to grow quite worried.

Harry had raised Cecilia since she was barely out of her egg several months ago. She was an orphan, just like him. He’d vowed to give her a better childhood than he’d had. He rather thought that might mean making sure that she lived at least long enough to become an adult. Even Harry had been allowed that much, despite all that had been conspiring to stop him achieving even that meagre goal.

Ron complained sometimes that Harry treated her like a human, and that he’d be a lot happier if he stopped pretending and spent more time with his real human friends. He’d been jealous, of course. But Harry failed to see how he could stop thinking of her as an ordinary person, especially when she teasingly called him ‘father’ when he acted particularly protective.

She was like a child to him. And just like a child, he loved her even if he didn’t like her all the time, and he thought that something inside him would simply die if anything happened to her.

Harry was relieved when he’d eventually found her coiled in amongst his washing pile. Or, at least, he was relieved after those first few moments of panic when he’d hissed at her loudly in Parseltongue and poked at her hard with the pad of his index finger, and still she hadn’t responded. A quick fire-call and some annoyed eye-rolling on Hermione’s part had assured him that she was in hibernation, not dead.

“Honestly, Harry, you really should have known that. I don’t know why you can’t ever just pick up a book for yourself.”

Harry shrugged, too happy to be bothered by her dressing him down.

The happiness didn’t last very long, however. Winter progressed and the house remained silent other than the faint creaking of the floorboards as he walked and the way the roof made strange noises as snow settled on top of it in a thick sheet. Harry was suddenly glad he’d reinforced the place with numerous spells when he’d bought it. He wasn’t sure how safe he would have felt being trapped inside it otherwise. The whole thing might’ve caved in by now had he been a Muggle.

He remembered Cecilia’s warning that one day she would be off doing her own thing and he’d be left friendless. That day had come much sooner than he’d expected. Not that he’d actually wanted to believe her in the first place.

He missed how she draped herself all over his favourite chair so that he had to find somewhere else to sit. He even missed her whining like a typical teenager. Harry remembered himself at that age. He hadn’t been much better, really. Of course, he’d had more reason to complain than the fact that his food wasn’t precisely the right temperature for his liking, or that it was a cloudy day and the sun wasn’t out to warm him.

Good Lord, he wanted that back. She could whine about whatever she liked if it meant hearing her talking to him again.

Hermione was right. This wasn’t healthy. He had to be able to live without Cecilia constantly establishing her presence in the loudest possible way. Even once she’d woken up, she’d be off looking for a mate. She might not ever return from her first mating season, though Harry refused to let his mind wander too far down that particular road.

Harry did the only thing he could do. He fire-called work and told them that he was taking a few personal days, and that they should reassign his current task if it was too urgent to wait for his return. Then he threw some Floo powder into the lit fireplace and was swept into the Floo Network.

Hermione was right. He had to get out more. The silence of his house had become extremely oppressive. Even swirling out of control around the Floo Network seemed like an improvement, which made Harry worry even more than usual about the state of his sanity.

The only place he could think to go, though, was Remus’s small house. Once the fireplace had spat him to the ground unceremoniously, he noted that, as he’d expected, Remus wasn’t actually home. At lunchtime on a Tuesday, of course he’d be at work, but Harry couldn’t exactly have Flooed straight to there. Harry didn’t think that appearing in an obviously magical way in front of a whole room of Muggles would much endear him to the Ministry, who already had enough reason to dislike and even to some extent fear him. Nor was the restaurant Remus worked at actually connected to the Floo Network. Or, at least, Harry doubted it was. There was no reason for it to be, since Remus was usually the only magical being in the whole building.

Harry decided, though, that they could handle two wizards in the building just for today. He didn’t even mind walking the twelve blocks to the upscale café. He stood just inside the doorway watching Remus wait tables and smiled.

It felt a little strange being out in the real world, especially the Muggle world. However, it was a comfort that there was at least one thing that was constant between this and his home life. Whenever he really watched Remus, he noticed how endearingly awkward he could be. He and Tonks had seemed to be the perfect couple, in that way. The two of them were both entirely capable of being calm and collected, but neither of them ever seemed to actually act that way unless it _really_ mattered. It was a shame that they hadn’t really lasted past the war, much like a lot of couples back then. Harry wondered whether he and Ginny would have gotten back together and actually gone the distance when the war was over if she had survived a little longer.

Remus seemed about as lucky in love – and everything else – as Harry, come to think of it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he still got along so well with his old teacher. Misery loved company, and both of them were very familiar with that emotion.

After watching Remus from afar for a little while longer, and politely waving away another waiter who attempted to show him to a table, Harry finally caught Remus’s eye.

“Harry!” Remus exclaimed as he approached. “I haven’t seen you in months!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Listen, what time do you get off?” Harry asked.

Remus looked slightly taken aback by his abruptness. “Three. I’ve only got the lunch shift today.”

“Good,” said Harry, “because it’s been way too long since I’ve been out and had a few pints.”

* * * * *

The night wasn’t a total failure, so far as Harry knew. He did go out for a beer, as he’d intended.

Unfortunately, Harry was certain he’d had quite a few too _many_ beers. He vaguely recalled sending away a woman who’d hit on him, making his lack of interest known in a not-so-very polite way. And then hitting on someone else not long after. Someone who Harry was quite certain in the aftermath was a man. Which he must have known at the time, surely, for he’d been very obviously male in every way imaginable.

He also hazily remembered Remus’s look of fascination as he’d watched on, and the smile on his face as Harry had trudged back to their little spot at the bar after nearly earning himself a punch in the face for his daring.

“Suddenly I’m a little sad I’ve never gone drinking with you before, Harry,” Remus chuckled. “It’s been an enlightening experience.”

Harry didn’t feel at all enlightened. In fact, he felt more in the dark than ever. Surely, he’d just been thinking a little too hard about Cecilia’s suggestion that a man was just the thing for his needs? That was it. He’d been confused by her words.

There was no way that Harry was actually gay. He’d have realised it before now, wouldn’t he?

But when Harry woke up much more sober and very hung-over in the morning, he remembered how, despite his comment, Remus hadn’t actually seemed all that surprised. He’d seemed more curious about Harry's choice of person to hit on than the gender of that person, Harry seemed to recall.

Harry covered his face, both to block out the light that was causing such horrific pain in his head and to shield himself from the outside world in embarrassment.

Remus thought he was gay, now, he realised. At least Remus hadn’t seemed to have a problem with it, because Harry suddenly wasn’t so entirely sure that Remus wouldn’t be right to think that. _Something_ had to have made him decide, in a pub filled with women, that a man was the better object of Harry’s bumbling flirtations.

Though Harry could hardly believe he hadn’t ever noticed at all that he liked men, if that was really the case. Although, then again, maybe he could believe it after all. Harry had never exactly been quick on the uptake with regard to romance. He’d thought that that was simply because girls were hard to understand, but maybe it was him who was giving out all the mixed signals.

Despite his humiliation of the night before, Harry had seen Remus again that night, though he’d refused point-blank to down even the barest sip of alcohol. Then he’d invited Remus around to his house the night after that. The place suddenly didn’t seem as quiet and intimidating when there was another person inside it with him.

When Christmas arrived, Harry was ecstatic to find Remus at his door, unannounced, with a wrapped present in his hand. The gift was inexpensive and more than just a little cheesy, but that was to be expected with Remus living off tips from stingy customers and all. For the first time Harry truly understood the whole ‘it’s the thought that counts’ motif that everyone always spouted out around Christmas and other commercial holidays.

They ended up in sort of a routine over the next month or so. Harry couldn’t really say he was complaining. Seeing Remus every day or two wasn’t exactly a hardship. He really enjoyed Remus Lupin’s company, after all. But it was nothing more than that. Definitely not.

And if Harry thought about kissing Remus, that was entirely normal. He’d found himself curious about men, after all. Of course, he would simply focus his curiosity on the nearest target.

Though he had to admit, he did think about it a _lot_.

* * * * *

Harry didn’t know how to be normal. Either he wasn’t at all interested in anything romantic or sexual, or he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He felt like a teenager again; from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, as the Muggle saying went.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Remus. It was getting ridiculous. At least Hermione wasn’t telling him how unhealthy he was anymore, though. He was doing quite a fine job of recognising that on his own.

He could hardly be held responsible when one day he just snapped and practically jumped on Remus as they were preparing to head out to a nearby pub. Though Harry had purposely decided not to drink this time around for fear of what he might let slip, he apparently didn’t require alcohol as a social lubricant as much as some, if the way his hands were running all over Remus’s body was anything to go by.

Harry hadn’t done a lot of kissing in his time. Nor had Remus, probably.  
Although, then again, Harry knew that he had at least three years in Tonks’s company to fall back on. He was probably a lot more experienced than Harry, that being the case.

Regardless of how much practice each had had over the years, though, they made do well enough. Harry’s lips slid over Remus’s almost desperately, their teeth clinking loudly as Harry pushed himself forward a little too eagerly.

At least Remus wasn’t pushing him away, he decided.

In fact, Remus was kissing him back avidly, as if he was as hungry for – or at least as curious about – this as Harry was.

Harry wound a hand behind Remus’s neck and pulled him in, as if he could possibly get any closer than he already was. He moaned as Remus’s tongue probed his mouth and opened his lips, moving into the intrusion. Remus seemed to know what he was doing to some degree, at least, so perhaps Harry had been wrong about his level of experience.

He didn’t want to think about how many other people Remus might have been with, he decided suddenly. Remus was here with _him_ now.

Harry darted his tongue out inquisitively and suddenly found himself sucking on the length of Remus’s tongue in return. Harry wondered whether this was anything like sucking a prick and choked down the slight wave of panic he felt. That would come later. There was no question that it would happen eventually, though, Harry decided. He hadn’t enjoyed anything as much as he was enjoying snogging Remus in years. Possibly ever. Any doubt that he liked men was looking ridiculously flimsy.

Cecilia certainly didn’t seem convinced. “It is to do with me, at least in part. He wants you to care about him most of anyone, including me. I should go.”

“No!” Harry objected. “He’ll just have to learn to deal with it, won’t he?”

“I have to find a mate as well,” Cecilia continued calmly. “I must leave soon. It might as well be now, so that you can be happy as well.”

“I’m happy with you here,” Harry said.

“You’ll be happy with him as well,” she asserted.

Harry told her repeatedly all day that she shouldn’t leave, and she was still in the house that night when he put her in her cage, the warming charm working to make her hiss sound almost like a purr. However, when he woke up in the morning she was gone.

For a moment, he wished he would have put a lock on the cage. But then, she’d have probably found a way to break it. She was very intelligent for a snake, after all. And she was certainly resourceful.

When Remus came by that evening, Harry was quick to announce. “Cecilia’s gone.”

Remus went still. “What? Where? What happened?”

“She ran off,” Harry said, and then laughed. “Or rather, she slithered off. She wanted to get out of the way so that you’d ‘mate’ with me, she said. Of course, she’s got her own mating to do, but if it wasn’t for your attitude towards her I’d have at least been able to say goodbye.”

Harry was fairly certain he didn’t blame Remus for Cecilia leaving, just as he hadn’t blamed Cecilia for Remus’s obstinacy. He didn’t have anyone else to take his bitterness out on right then, though, and Remus seemed just as good as anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said. And he really did look sorry.

Harry, who’d be gearing up to yell at him, felt the fire in his chest burn itself out in the blink of an eye.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It had to happen eventually.”

“She’ll be back,” Remus assured him. He pulled Harry into his arms. Harry didn’t resist.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I hope so.”

He paused for a long time, resting his head on Remus’s shoulder. Finally he said, “Could we just put all this stuff about having sex behind us? I’m happy just being with you. I don’t want to lose you too, especially over something as stupid as going too fast.”

Remus nodded. Harry felt the brush of Remus’s hair against his ear to mark the action.

“Sure, Harry. Anything you want.”

Harry wished that Remus really would give him anything he wanted. However, he’d settle for whatever Remus was willing to give. For now, at least.

Remus bent down and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I really am sorry,” Remus whispered. “It’s just, I can’t be with you when she’s there as well, because when I hear you talking in Parseltongue to her…”

Remus didn’t complete the sentence. Harry, stunned and not at all sure that he’d understood him correctly – he had a history of that when it came to these sorts of matters, after all – didn’t push the point. He did, however, purposefully mark Remus’s words down in his memory. There would come a time when that would be very useful knowledge, if Remus did actually mean what Harry thought he meant.

Or, at least, Harry hoped that time would eventually arrive. It seemed like an eternity away. His prick twitched as if to punctuate the thought, for once in perfect agreement with Harry’s brain.

* * * * *

It took Harry quite a few weeks to realise that he was in love with Remus – or, at least, that he was very nearly in love, since Harry wasn’t entirely sure where the dividing line between ‘in love’ and ‘not in love’ actually fell. It took him another week or two to work up the nerve to tell Remus as much.

So much for Gryffindor courage.

That was the night Remus finally believed that he was serious about them. It was also the night Remus shagged Harry wildly into the timber floor of his living room.

Harry spent the whole time being glad that Remus had some experience with other men under his belt, as it were. Harry himself had been mostly clueless.

And, of course, it had showed.

When Remus had trailed his fingers back to the pucker where the skin of his arse gathered together, Harry had jumped and let out a little yelp. He’d verbally blamed it on the fact that the lubricant was still a little chilled despite Remus rubbing it together in his hands to warm it. He could tell Remus didn’t buy that for a moment.

When Remus had two fingers inside him and the very tips had found a very interesting bundle of nerves, Harry had jumped again, though this time it definitely hadn’t been just from the surprise. Remus knew that as well.

However, Remus had known that Harry had never been with a man before coming into this. He hadn’t seemed to mind then. Harry was fairly certain that Remus still didn’t mind now that they were finally actually _doing_ it, either, especially considering that devious way he was grinning at Harry, as if in anticipation.

Once they’d gotten past the preparation stage, though, Harry didn’t feel quite so nervous anymore. The rest of it was just like he’d experienced with women, only with him as the one being entered. He thought that he could handle that. The mechanics would be similar, surely.

Remus hesitated, though, when it came to getting right down to the actual fucking. Harry sighed in annoyance, not prepared to wait any longer. He’d just have to spur Remus on, was all.

He thought of the way Cecilia’s body writhed across the ground and propelled forward, keeping the flicker of the light against her scales in mind as he spoke.

“Remus,” he hissed. “I want you to show me what it can really be like. I want you to bend me over the bed and hold me down while you push yourself into me so hard I feel like you’ve fused yourself to my body. I want to feel your skin on mine when you thrust into me. You’ll do it so hard that I see stars, and you’ll know exactly how I feel about it because I won’t be able to stop myself from crying out.”

He was kind of glad that Remus couldn’t actually understand a word of that. He felt less like an amateur romance novelist when he was the only one who could hear the words coming out of his mouth.

“I want you to come inside me shouting my name and knowing that what we’re doing isn’t going to backfire on you, because nothing could be more fucking perfect than this. And then I want you to do it all again, a thousand times over. No, more than that. Millions of times. For the rest of our lives.”

Remus shuddered and cupped Harry’s arse.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Remus groaned, “but I don’t think anything’s ever made me so hard in my life.”

And then he bent Harry over the bed and took him hard and fast, as if he’d understood what Harry had been begging for after all. Maybe things like that didn’t need words, Harry concluded.

After Remus had finally given him a proper shagging, like Harry had been all but demanding for these past few months, Harry decided that he would have spoken up about how he’d realised he was falling for Remus long before if he’d realised he’d be rewarded like that.

As yet another first time for them, they fell asleep together. Harry felt warm with Remus’s arms around him.

He wondered whether this was how Cecilia felt when she lay in the sun on a warm day. He missed her, he thought to himself, even though he had Remus to keep him company. Just like she would have wanted.

* * * * *

It was months before Cecilia came back to the house. The leaves were just starting to go brown and the flowers in the garden had long since given up their fight for life. Spring and summer had gone, and the ‘mating season’ had ended a while back.

Harry had been very happy to see her, despite how long it had taken her to come back. He was simply happy that she’d made it back at all. He’d been growing more worried about her safety by the day.

“The mating season went well for you, then?” Harry asked.

Cecilia seemed much more sombre than she had been when he last saw her. He supposed being on her own and becoming a parent had forced her to grow up. He was sad he’d missed seeing her finally gain some maturity.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Two of my younglings are out there in the garden now. They’re old enough now to fend for themselves.”

From the slightly pained tone with which she said ‘two’, Harry knew better than to ask how many eggs there had been to begin with.

“And your mating season went just as well, I suppose,” she continued, her tone suddenly losing its sad tinge and taking on that almost annoying playfulness that Harry remembered.

He’d missed it, and her, so much.

Harry shot a glance to where Remus was lying half a foot away from where they were sitting on the bed, still sound asleep despite the loud hissing that must be filling the room.

“You’re just guessing,” Harry accused. “Just because Remus is here now doesn’t mean I’ve mated with him.”

Cecilia hissed dissentingly at him. “No. Perhaps not. But he tastes more like a normal two-legger than he did when I left. He tastes more like you in particular, actually.

“He tastes like he belongs to you,” she concluded.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Do I taste like I belong to him?”

Cecilia flicked her tongue at him and made a disgusted noise that Harry took to be assent.

Harry smiled.

~FIN~


End file.
